Death in a Tarot Card
by the quiet winds
Summary: Mayor Mills never did take too kindly to outsiders, Mary Margaret learned.


For mid-November, there was a surprising lack of snow. It was cold, without question, but it hadn't yet snowed in the season.

As she sipped her mid-morning coffee and watched her students work, one elementary school teacher carefully contemplated the odd weather pattern. Perhaps, the whimsical part of her mind attempted to reason, it has to do with the impending change in the millennium? 1999 was drawing to a swift and uneventful close, just as every year had before. Her eyes flitted to the window, watching as the trees fell victim to the harsh breezes and leaves, one after the other, plummeted to the frozen ground. She turned her attention back to her fourth graders, carefully eyeing each student as they pushed through the history worksheet almost silently, save for the occasional quiet whisper littered around the room.

Like the leaves outside, pencils soon dropped to desks and eyes looked up expectantly.

"Is everyone done?"

"Yes, Ms. Blanchard."

Gracefully, the young teacher rose to her feet.

"Excellent, let's discuss."

* * *

The day passed in a blur, as it did every day that Ms. Blanchard could remember. The final bell dismissed the students, who excitedly walked off to begin their weekend. Not long after, Ms. Blanchard followed them out, books in hand as she left the school and began to head towards her loft building.

The young teacher was so lost in thought that she didn't see the person coming towards her until they both nearly knocked each other over. The books spilled from her arms onto the sidewalk, and she instantly dropped to collect them.

"I'm so sorry Madame Mayor!" She automatically exclaimed, assuming the identity of the poor soul she ran into. One glance at their shoes and she instantly knew it wasn't the stone-hearted mayor. Regina Mills wouldn't be caught dead in dirty shoes, let alone dirty sneakers.

Ms. Blanchard returned to her full height.

"Hello," she said politely. "I don't recognize you, are you new here?"

The girl nodded. She heard the question but hadn't looked Ms. Blanchard in the face yet, as her eyes were too busy flickering around. Terror was painted across her face, draining a healthy pink color from her cheeks and replacing it with a sickly shade of white.

"Hey, are you alright?" Ms. Blanchard placed a gentle hand on a trembling shoulder. The girl nearly jumped out of her skin.

"You...you never saw me."

That floored Ms. Blanchard, who barely recovered in time to register that the girl was breaking into a dead sprint down Main Street. Or she _would_ have been, if Ms. Blanchard hadn't caught her hand to keep her from leaving.

"It's okay, dear. Why don't you come with me? You look like you could use a nice hot meal, perhaps a good night's sleep, as well." Ms. Blanchard's voice was soft and kind. The girl crumbled at the offer, seeing only genuine affection. She nodded vigorously.

Ms. Blanchard gently tugged on her hand, leading them to the apartment building and up the stairs. She unlocked the door, inviting the girl inside with a smile.

"My name is Mary Margaret, and this is my home." The teacher stacked the books on the counter before turning to back to her guest, who was looking around the small loft from the doorway. "And it is your home for as long as you would like."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why?" The girl repeated, toeing the welcome mat with her shoe. "You don't even know my name, but you're letting me stay here, no questions asked?"

Mary Margaret extended a hand for the girl to take, and she hesitantly did. "You look like you could use a friend." She paused. "So what is your name?"

"Christine. Christine Esprit."

Another bright grin. "Alright, Christine, what brings you this way?" She pulled the girl to the couch, situating them among the cushion before directing her attention to her guest. Christine dislodged her hand and began to fiddle with her fingers nervously, unsure if she wanted to share the story.

"You don't have to share if you don't want to," Mary Margaret amended quickly.

Christine rubbed her wrist and looked down. "I want to tell you," she said honestly, "But I'm scared."

Mary Margaret cautiously reached out and put a hand on the girl's back. A heavy flinch caused her to recoil almost immediately.

"You don't have to be afraid, Christine." Mary Margaret's voice was soothing, and Christine couldn't help but tear up. "Nothing will happen to you here."

"I...I ran away," she admitted in a small voice. She still hadn't stopped rubbing her wrist, and Mary Margaret noticed. Trying again to comfort the girl, she gently placed her hand on the active one, her thumb moving in small circles across her knuckles.

It is often said that there comes a point where one straw breaks a camel's back. This simple gesture decimated the last of Christine's resolve, and tears began streaming down the pale face.

"I couldn't t-take it a-anymore," she said between gasps. "My p-parents. They...they w-wouldn't stop. Everyd-day...something else I-I did wr-wrong. I could n-never get the r-right grades...the r-right s-songs."

Mary Margaret, again, put a hand on the girl's back, this time she didn't object. The older woman went one step further and pulled Christine against her, holding her in a loose embrace as Christine cried into her shoulder.

"Th-they made s-sure I knew th-that I wa-wasn't good enough."

"Oh, sweetheart," Mary Margaret whispered against Christine's soft, dirty-blonde hair.

"I f-finally gave up and l-left." Her sobs were starting to die down, but she was still gasping for air. The acknowledgement of sixteen years of abuse weighed on her chest so heavily she thought she was suffocating. Then she realized it was just the tears sucking the breath from her lungs.

 _'You can't do anything right, can you?'_ Her mother's voice bounced around her skull, a broken record that just couldn't be fixed but refused to stop.

"I'm proud of you." A quiet voice, a _different_ voice, laced with emotion, lips gently pressing against her hair.

"F-for what? Y-you don't e-even know m-me!" She felt the sobs returning again.

"Exactly." Christine gasped for breath again, utterly confused as to what the woman could _possibly_ be referring to. "You don't know me, yet you just admitted something very deep and very painful."

Christine felt a hand lightly stroke her back, and she rested her cheek against Mary Margaret's slim shoulder. "Th-thank you. I n-needed that."

"Of course, dear."

Aside from the occasional hiccup or gasp for breath, the silence stretched from the rafters to the floor. Mary Margaret didn't want to let go of Christine, but, ultimately, dinner had to be made.

"What do you like to eat?"

A shrug. "Anything, really." Beat. "I am allergic to carrots. And..."

"And what?"

"I'm not allowed to have milk."

In Mary Margaret's eyes, that was an awfully particular thing. _Milk._ Why _milk_?

She must have been voicing her thoughts aloud. " _They_ want me to be the best singer there is...operas, specifically. No milk for sopranos," She said with a nervous chuckle.

Mary Margaret's face softened. "No milk it is, then." She turned the stove on and put a pot of water on, before looking back at Christine. "Do you have any belongings? More clothes?"

Christine shook her head ashamedly.

"That's alright." She stepped next to the younger girl. "We look to be about the same size, you can borrow something of mine. Bathroom is over there."

Thirty minutes later, Christine emerged from the bathroom with wet hair and clothed in one of Mary Margaret's old college t-shirts, sweatpants, and fluffy socks.

"I made us some spaghetti," Mary Margaret offered, holding up the bowl. As she began to dish out portions, she spoke again. "Please don't be afraid to ask for anything. Anything at all." _Including milk._

Christine chuckled. "Thank you, Mary Margaret. This is extremely generous."

"No problem, dear. Now eat, you look like you could use it."

With a small smile, something Mary Margaret had yet to see from the girl, she eagerly dug into the meal before her.

They ate in mostly silence, Mary Margaret only able to coax small stories forth, as Christine was far too hungry to even _want_ to talk. Christine said it had been almost six week since she had a full meal.

"My parents wanted me to lose weight, I had a very strict diet," she had said, causing Mary Margaret's heart to sink, then flare with anger. How _dare_ they treat this girl like this? She was kind, smart, and talented, and yet she was treated like nothing. Worse than nothing. If she ever met her parents she would-

"Mary Margaret? I think the meatball has had enough."

The woman snapped back to alertness, not even realizing that she had zoned out. A meatball was in crumbs on her plate, the fork of murder in her hand. She chuckled sheepishly and ate the evidence.

They returned to the couch after their meal, taking almost the same position as before. Christine was curled up against Mary Margaret, who was absentmindedly playing with strands of still-damp hair.

"This is nice," Christine murmured, breaking the silence.

Mary Margaret hummed in agreement.

"Being held like this." She snuggled slightly closer. "Not hurting."

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Mary Margaret was floored. They _had_ physically abused her, too.

"I won't hurt you Christine. I promise." Her words were darts, cutting through the apartment as she stared out the window over her bed. To Christine, though, they were the most beautiful seven words anyone had ever said to her. All she could do was softly sigh in contentment and submit to the relaxing ministrations of the fingers weaving through her hair.

Almost two hours later, they hadn't moved. A quiet conversation had sustained for forty-five minutes, then died with the last of the sunlight as it faded from town. Mary Margaret discovered that Christine was from Portland. Mary Margaret then realized she had never met anyone who _wasn't_ originally from Storybrooke.

"Time for bed, I think," Mary Margaret said softly, not in any hurry at all. Finally, five minutes later, her legs dragged her upright. "There's an extra bed upstairs. I'll be up in a minute."

Christine went upstairs to the small loft area and waited for Mary Margaret, who appeared a heartbeat later in her pajamas.

"Blankets, heater, pillows...I think that should do it. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?"

Christine looked around briefly before fixing on Mary Margaret. Before she knew what she was doing, the girl launched herself at the woman, wrapping her arms tightly around her. Mary Margaret didn't even hesitate in reciprocating the embrace, lightly rubbing the girl's back.

They pulled back a moment later. "Goodnight, sweetheart," Mary Margaret whispered, pushing a few stray hairs behind Christine's ear.

* * *

It was the scream that woke her.

Bloodcurdling.

Shrill.

In-the-middle-of-being-murdered.

 _Oh no._

Mary Margaret was on her feet and up the stairs in a total of six long steps. Christine was sitting up in the bed, alternating between panting like a wounded dog and gasping for the last bit of air in the room.

The bed dipped and she looked up, expecting to see the angry, snarling face of her mother or her father's hand coming in for a strike. Instead, she saw the kind, concerned face of her new friend.

"Hey," Christine offered lamely.

"Are...are you alright?"

Christine shrugged. "I guess I forgot to warn you." Unconsciously, she began to rub her wrist again. "I get nightmares. Like, a lot."

Awkward silence. Just for a heartbeat. "Do you...do you need anything? Talk...hug...anything?"

"It's the same thing every time. They come in to my room, shouting about this or that, and then he...he grabs me and I hear this...crack." Both of their eyes trailed down to her wrist. A few tears slipped down her cheeks. Mary Margaret, without thinking, gently wiped them away.

Christine inwardly smiled. Mary Margaret was too kind.

"Mary Margaret?"

"Hm?"

"Promise me something?"

"Of course."

"Don't...don't send me back, please."

A tiny grin tugged on the edge of Mary Margaret's lips as she reached out take her hand. "Never. I promise."

Christine let out a breath and laid back down. She felt fingers gently stroke through her hair. "You're safe here." Words that weren't meant to be heard. "You're safe with me."

After she was sure the girl was asleep, nightmare-free, Mary Margaret smoothed Christine's hair down again before returning to her own bed. She knew she wouldn't get much more sleep that night, as one question refused to leave her thoughts.

What was she going to do with this girl?

She couldn't send her back. She _literally_ just promised that she wouldn't. But could she even afford to adopt her?

 _'Woah,_ _'_ a voice in her head chided, _'you just met the girl. Today. Less than twelve hours ago. You're already thinking about adopting her?'_

 _'What other choice do I have?'_ She answered her own question.

 _'One day at a time, Mary Margaret. One day at a time.'_

* * *

"I made breakfast."

Mary Margaret snapped to alertness when the aroma of bacon and coffee wafted to her nose. Christine was standing in the kitchen, already dressed in outfit she had met her in, with two plates of food and two mugs on the counter.

"You didn't have to..."

"I know." She shrugged. "I'm used to being up really early and working out, so I figured I would do some laundry," she gestured to her clothes, "and then I made us breakfast."

Seeing Mary Margaret's shocked expression, her eyes widened slightly. "I hope that is okay," she immediately said, her tone showing insecurity.

Three heartbeats passed before Mary Margaret moved at all. Her first steps pulled her to Christine, who was rapidly folding in on herself, and wrapping her arms around the girl. "That is more than okay, thank you, sweetheart."

Christine physically relaxed into the embrace. They stayed that way for a few moments before Mary Margaret pulled back, her hands resting on the other girl's biceps. "Let's eat, shall we?"

After breakfast, which Mary Margaret was quick to praise, the older woman decided to show Christine around their quaint little town. And by little, Christine soon discovered, she really meant _little._ There was not much of anything. A diner, a therapist, a pawn broker, some residences, and the sheriff who simply drove loops around the town. Crime was non-existent.

It was like the whole place was asleep or something.

There was something truly _odd_ about all of them. They were all originally from Storybrooke, and had never left. They were also superstitious, she found, believing that even _nearing_ the town border brought danger and dark tales. Everyone was warm and friendly, however.

Well...almost everyone.

The pawn-broker, the ironically named Mr. Gold, had the devil in his grin, powerful enough to send a shiver down Christine's spine.

"I don't believe we've met," He said as they encountered each other outside _Granny's Diner_. His voice carried a Scottish lilt, which unnerved her in the slightest. The sturdy cane in his right hand didn't help, either.

"My name is Christine. I'm staying with Mary Margaret," she said with as much conviction as she could muster.

"You must be new to town?"

She nodded. "I'm from Portland." Mary Margaret could feel the fear radiating off of the girl and lightly placed a hand on her back. Christine didn't even flinch.

His grin widened slightly. "Portland, you say?"

Christine looked down, toeing the concrete.

"Well, how did you end up here?" He sounded immensely curious.

"I caught a bus, then I just kept walking."

Had Christine looked up, she would have seen the manic excitement on his lips.

"It's quite lucky you found this little town, then."

Christine also was introduced to the mayor of the town, one Regina Mills. She was just barely shorter than Mary Margaret but thrice as imposing. Anger and old feuds wafted off of her like a rancid stench that only grew worse throughout their short, yet intense conversation.

It started off pleasant enough, just as it did with Mr. Gold. The conversations diverted, however, when Regina found that Christine was, as the mayor so eloquently put it, an outsider. She was still radiating resentment, but the slightest hint of fear and uncertainty entering her formerly unwavering voice. Regina gave her regards and marched off shortly thereafter, her high heels creating a battle march until she disappeared behind a corner.

"Did I...did I do something wrong?" Christine quietly asked, fidgeting uncomfortably in the middle of the sidewalk.

Mary Margaret laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "No, don't worry. The mayor is just...particular."

Christine calmed and looked to the corner where the dark haired woman had turned. "How long has she been mayor?"

When she didn't get a response, she found Mary Margaret wearing a confused yet thoughtful expression.

"I suppose...as long as I can remember."

Christine's eyebrows knitted together in deep thought. "How does she keep getting elected?" _What is wrong with this goddamn town?!_

Mary Margaret was also growing increasingly unsure. "I...I really don't know."

Something fishy was going on.

* * *

"How is this possible?"

"Madame Mayor, if you would please stop pacing. You'll wear out my floors."

Regina stopped on a dime and turned to the shop keep with a glare. He was unfazed. She held no power here.

"The town line is sealed. No one gets in. There is only us."

"That's just it," Mr. Gold said casually, "She _is_ one of us."

Regina's expression changed from one of annoyance to one of pure shock, her eyes widening almost comically.

"She's _one of us?_ " Regina repeated incredulously.

Mr. Gold shrugged. "In a sense, yes." He took his cane in his hand and slowly disappeared into the back room. Regina didn't move. She heard him riffling through books before he returned, a heavy volume in his hand. He set it on the counter and regarded her expectantly.

"The Phantom of the Opera?"

Mr. Gold flicked through the pages, pointing to a name. Christine Daaé.

"That's her?"

"In a sense, yes."

"What the hell does that mean? How do I get her out of this town?"

He chuckled at the fury on her face. "One step at a time, dearie. She's a reincarnation of Ms. Daaé, so she was able to slip through the town line easily."

"How do you know?"

"It wasn't too hard to piece together. The name, the voice, her obvious aversion to me..."

"What does _that_ have to do with it?" Regina felt that she was getting nowhere, and was quickly growing annoyed.

He turned more pages. "The Phantom had an accent. Not Scottish, but one nonetheless. He also had a physical issue." Without looking up, he lifted his cane in the air by a finger.

"How do I get rid of her?"

At that moment, the girl in question wandered past with Mary Margaret at her flank. Both were smiling as the elder woman pointed out something down the street, then they disappeared from sight.

"This is _my_ happy ending," she said. It came out almost as a growl, low and feral, and more to herself than her companion. "We have to _get rid of her_."

"We?" Mr. Gold laughed. "You're on your own, dearie."

"You want this too," Regina reminded him, "You gave me this curse in the first place."

"Yes I did, but if this girl can come into this town, that means my boy can as well."

She stared at him, long and hard.

"Fine. I suppose I will have to sort this out on my own."

"Good luck, dearie." As Regina's hand reached for the door handle, he spoke again. "I do suppose you'll need it. Ms. Blanchard isn't likely to let her go that easily. In fact, I believe she intends to adopt the girl."

* * *

Four days had passed since their initial meeting, and Mary Margaret and Christine were growing quickly accustomed to their new living arrangements. It was late in the afternoon when they ran out of sugar. Mary Margaret handed Christine five dollars and sent her to the store to buy more.

As the sun burned out over the hills of Maine, Christine rounded the corner to the market. She was stopped, however, by the Mayor and a man she assumed to be the sheriff.

"Madame Mayor, Sheriff," she greeted politely, "Excuse me, I am on an errand." She tried to extricate herself from the two, but she was stopped.

"Ms. Christine, I am here to help you," Regina said kindly. Christine instantly saw through the white lie. "I found your parents. They are absolutely worried sick about you. Sheriff Graham is here to bring you back."

Christine stumbled back a few paces involuntarily. "My-my parents?" The question died in her teeth, coming out as no more than a hoarse whisper.

"Yes, dear. Your parents. They are waiting for you in the diner outside of town," Regina said, still maintaining that false kindness.

"But I...I wish to stay here. With Mary Margaret." _'The person who actually loves me,'_ she added in her head.

"I'm afraid Ms. Blanchard lays no claim to you." Regina quickly saw the opportunity to twist the knife deeper. "In fact, she's the one who sent for them to be found."

Christine was struck silent. She could have sworn her heart stopped for one, two, three seconds, maybe more.

"She...she promised she would never send me back there," Christine said in what could barely be considered a whimper.

Hiding a smirk, Regina placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, who roughly shrugged it off, angrily wiping at tears that weren't escaping her eyes.

"It'd be best if we went now," Sheriff Graham put in. "We shouldn't keep them waiting too long."

Christine nodded mutely, feeling utterly pathetic as she followed Sheriff Graham to the squad car. The drive was eerily quiet and all too quick. The green 'Leaving Storybrooke' sign mocked her as they approached, when Graham suddenly pulled to a stop, veering off into the brush.

"Sh-Sheriff Graham?"

"Get out of the car," he commanded quietly. His eyes looked vacant, his body language nonexistent. She did as told. She stood at the edge of the woods, her body shaking like the leaves around her. She grew more frightened when he slowly reached for the gun on his hip.

"What are you do-doing?" Christine asked, her hands coming up in defense.

That hollow, empty look in his eyes entranced her, to the point where she almost didn't notice the gun raising and pointing directly at her chest. The moment she looked down the barrel, darkness covered the town like a blanket as the last dregs of sunlight sunk beneath the treeline.

"This is _my_ happy ending," Sheriff Graham said in a voice that wasn't his. "Don't worry, Mary Margaret will be just fine," He said with that same fake kindness as Regina had...

Regina.

Her eyes widened in realization just as Sheriff Graham clicked off the safety and fired.

The birds scattered at the sound.

* * *

When Christine didn't return within a half hour, Mary Margaret found herself growing worried. She calmed herself with the thought that she must have simply gotten lost.

An hour. Really lost?

Two hours. Something was most definitely wrong. Grabbing a jacket and shoes, she was on the streets looking for answers. Christine had never reached the market, according to the owner. She found herself almost running to the Sheriff.

"Graham?" She called. The room echoed with emptiness.

As Mary Margaret searched for the Sheriff, he appeared not a moment later.

"Graham! Thank goodness, I need your help."

"Mary Margaret? What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for someone. She's about my height, blonde hair, name's Christine?"

Graham looked at her confusedly. She had orchestrated the girl to be picked up by her parents, no? Yet here she was, wringing her hands and on the verge of tears from worry.

"You...you sent her with her parents?" He asked uncertainly.

Mary Margaret was a naturally pale woman, accentuated by her raven's feather hair. Graham didn't think it was possible to see her lose color in her face, but he literally saw the blood sprint from her cheeks.

"No...I would...goodness no..." Her words were near incoherent. She shook her head, clearing the clutter from her mind and stabilizing herself. "Where did you last see her?"

"The town line."

Mary Margaret didn't wait for an invitation. She simply ran outside to the squad car and climbed in, Graham hot on her heels.

The ride to the line, like the one earlier in the evening, was filled with silence. But this was a different silence. Nervous energy filled the car, seemingly making it faster.

He pulled off the road just short of the town line. Mary Margaret scrambled out of the car and stood on shaky legs.

"Christine?!"

Silence.

She ran towards the woods.

"Christine?!"

Frantically, she looked around.

The world suddenly stopped.

About a hundred feet away, under a great tree, lay a very familiar figure in a very familiar outfit. Mary Margaret sprinted over towards it, her knees giving out just as she reached the body.

Her clothes were blood soaked, a neat little hole tearing through her shirt right above her heart. The ghost of a scream remained on her lips, her eyes opened yet unseeing, wide as saucers, even in death.

A soul-crushed sob wrenched from Mary Margaret's throat as she pulled Christine against her and cried into soft hair. Her fingers weaved through it as it had that fateful night.

"I...I failed you..." she murmured. "I promised I-I would pr-protect you."

Mary Margaret kissed Christine's forehead. "I lo-love you, m-my darling g-girl."

In a fairy tale, True Love's Kiss was the curer of all evil. Mary Margaret's life, however, was no fairy tale, and there was no evil to be cured.

Christine was dead. And it was all Mary Margaret's fault.

* * *

Later, much later, after Graham was able to pry Mary Margaret away from Christine's lifeless body and drive her home, Regina stopped by.

"Graham told me about what happened," she said plainly, "I offer my condolences."

Mary Margaret dragged her sleeve across her cheek, trying, and failing, to hide the tear tracks.

"I just wish I knew what happened," she whispered.

"It is a terrible tragedy, one that would be best kept under wraps." Both women agreed on that: one selfishly, one selflessly.

"Well, if you need anything," Regina placed a hand on Mary Margaret's forearm, "I am around."

"Thank you, Madame Mayor."

Regina nodded, silently proud of her handiwork, but more so of her ability to convince Mary Margaret so _easily_.

"I shall be off, it is getting awfully late."

"Goodnight, Madame Mayor."

"Goodnight."

Mary Margaret closed the door and retreated into the sanctuary of her loft, lowering herself to sit on the stairs. She played with the ring on her finger, an old habit for times of thought. She wouldn't fail the next one. If there ever was a next one, that is.

Snow began to fall outside her window.


End file.
